


something about the way you love me (finally feels like home)

by Idday



Series: Redux [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8195396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idday/pseuds/Idday
Summary: He loves Jack likes this and loves that he can make him like this—warm and open and laughing with their friends. It makes him stupidly proud, like he has his own personal Jack Zimmermann. He has to share his boyfriend with the rest of the world, sure, but they only get the hockey robot version. Kent gets this Jack, the real Jack, all to himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> .....so apparently I'm not done yet.
> 
> (title from "Sweetest Devotion.)

The team unanimously invites the Falconers along for a night out after they beat them in November.

In all of Kent’s years in the NHL—maybe in all of living hockey memory—two teams have never partied together after playing a game, so Kent knows it’s Swoops idea, both because it’s stupid, and because he has a maniacal glint in his eye when he tells Kent.

Swoops is also the only one who knows he’s dating Jack, which this is clearly about, so Kent doesn’t feel too bad when he corners him on the way out of the room, letting the rookies trickle by out into the hallway until they’re the only two left.

“This should be fun,” Kent says neutrally, and Swoops grins.

“Yeah, you know, I always wanted to get to know Zimmermann a little better. What a perfect opportunity, huh?”

“Listen, Jeff, I don’t know what sort of twisted hazing ritual this is…”

“You got to vet my girlfriends when I was still dating,” Swoops points out.

“Yeah, because you have heinous taste in women and married the only one I actually agreed you should be dating,” Kent says. “Whatever. You can’t say anything to the guys, okay? You can’t even imply anything. This is a capital ‘S’ Secret.”

“Hey,” Swoops says, suddenly serious. “I know, Kent, I wouldn’t do that to you guys. I honestly just thought it might be fun to hang out with both of you. The rest of the boys kind of invited themselves along.”

Jeff’s phone chirps in his pocket.

“Mashkov is very excited to see you,” he says, and pats Kent on the shoulder.

…

At the club, Kent and Jack volunteer to get the first round for the table. They lean on the bar, elbows just touching, and Jack gives Kent a wide-eyed look that’s pretty clearly meant to communicate ‘ _what the fuck?’_

“Sorry, Jack, I honestly didn’t know,” Kent says, looking away.

Jack’s face softens. “Kenny,” he says, and hands over his card to the bartender when she comes back with a tray of full shot glasses and beers, “It’s okay. It’s good, you know? I can get to know your friends, I know they’re important to you.”

“Less so after tonight,” Kent grumbles, but he helps Jack carry the drinks back over, collapses into the booth next to him.

Swoops is chatting with Alexei about something Kent can’t quite hear over the pounding music, and Kent tilts his knee against Jack’s under the table, props his foot between Jack’s and feels the gentle squeeze Jack gives it in acknowledgment.

It’s not quite like when the guys bring their girlfriends out—they can’t hold hands on the table or share a drink or make out on the dance floor, a little too drunk, but it’s still nice.

Kent cracks a joke, makes Jack throw his head back and laugh hard, and Kent smiles helplessly.

He loves Jack likes this and loves that he can make him like this—warm and open and laughing with their friends. It makes him stupidly proud, like he has his own personal Jack Zimmermann. He has to share his boyfriend with the rest of the world, sure, but they only get the hockey robot version. Kent gets this Jack, the real Jack, all to himself.

…

Kent follows Jack back to the bathroom and gets pulled into a dark alcove where the jackets are hanging.

“Kenny,” Jack breathes, and pulls him close. Kent isn’t drunk but he suddenly feels it, and he’s so conscious of the fact that they’re not truly in private, and he suddenly doesn’t care.

“Hey,” Kent says, and loops two fingers through Jack’s belt loops.

Jack kisses him, just once, quickly, almost chaste. It makes Kent’s head spin like it’s the first time.

Normal people probably don’t feel so exhilarated just kissing their boyfriend in public, but Kent’s breathing hard like he just came off the ice.

Jack smiles at him, leaves to duck into the bathroom and Kent stays, pressed up against someone’s coat, and tries to compose himself.

By the time he gets back to the table, Jack is already there.

His cheeks must still be flushed, because Swoops raises his eyebrows and smirks into his beer.

…

Jack kisses him for real later, back at Kent’s apartment when they’re finally alone, and Kent’s wild with it, wants to strip off right there in his front hallway and kiss Jack again, again, again.

…

It’s hard to hide the deep purpling mark on his collarbone in the locker room when he changes, and he’s grateful that he can probably pass some of his other marks off as hockey bruises.

He hears one of the guys whoop at him, and Teddy reaches over to poke at Kent’s neck until Kent slaps his hand away.

“Damn, Cap,” he says, “I didn’t even see you leave with anyone last night.”

“Jealous because I actually managed to pick up?” Kent snipes back, and the whole room devolves into a round of chirping at both of their expenses.

Kent would take a bullet for any one of his teammates, but right now he hates them all a pretty unreasonable amount. He does, truly.

“On the ice, boys, let’s go,” he says, and tries to sound appropriately stern even though he’s grinning despite himself.

“Get it, Parser,” Swoops says on his way out and slaps his ass, laughs at the way Kent winces.

…

“Jack wants me to come to his college reunion this summer,” Kent grumbles suddenly, 10,000 feet above Nebraska.

“That sounds fun,” Swoops says idly, and then catches the look on Kent’s face and says quickly, “Not fun? That sounds horrible?”

Kent sighs heavily.

“Okay, dude, what gives,” Swoops says. “This is like couple stuff 101, I thought you were into that. You know, doing normal couple things.”

“Except I don’t know if he wants me there as his boyfriend,” Kent hisses. He’s extremely conscious of Teddy in the seat in front of them, even though he’s wearing noise cancelling headphones and has been snoring since take-off. “I don’t know if any of them know about Jack at all, or about us. For all I know, I’m going as his hockey bro.”

“This isn’t, like, a bad office party or something where you take your partner in self-defense so there’s one person there you actually like,” Swoops points out reasonably, “He’s friends with these guys. If he invited you, it’s because he wants you there.”

Kent bites his lower lip. “He had a boyfriend in college, but they were never out. I mean, the other guy was. Not Jack.”

“Oh, shit,” Swoops says, and opens his eyes wider. “Is the boyfriend going to be there?”

“Ex. And I’m assuming so, I don’t know.” Kent’s sulking, he knows.

“Okay, dude, what’s this actually about? You jealous of this guy, or something? What, is he good looking? Successful? Wealthy? Won a lot of awards?” Swoops gestures at Kent, as if to say, _what’s the problem, here?_

“I thought after the last Cup you vowed to never stroke my ego again,” Kent tries to chirp, but it comes off hollow.

Jeff claps him on the shoulder. “Hey, Parson. You know who you have to actually talk to about this stuff, right?”

“Yeah,” Kent says. Fucking great.

“You’ll be fine, dude,” Swoops says, and turns back to his book. _An Evening with a Duke._

“I don’t know why I even want advice from someone who things the height of romance is a steamy evening with Lady Evelina St. James,” Kent muses.

“She’s not a lady,” Jeff says archly. “She’s hasn’t married the Duke yet.” 

…

“Do you not want to come?” Jack asks him over Skype, brow wrinkling in concern.

“No, I really want to come, Jack. I do. I just…” Kent runs a hand through his hair, tries to gather his thoughts. He doesn’t want to push too hard, but he’s driving himself crazy. “Am I coming as your boyfriend, or just as, like, a hockey buddy?”

Jack looks at his hands. “I guess I never thought about it like that,” he says slowly, “I just wanted you there.”

“I can do either,” Kent reassures, “I just want to know, going in.”

Jack’s quiet, and it’s not his normal brand. Something’s wrong. “Do they know, Jack?” Kent asks carefully, “That you date men?”

Jack flushes. “Eric, he obviously knows. Not the others. At least, I never told them.”

Kent’s alarm rings—he has to set one talking to Jack, now, or he winds up going to bed way too late.

“I gotta go, Zimms,” Kent sighs. He played almost twenty minutes tonight and they still lost—he’s exhausted and frustrated and he’s worried Jack thinks it’s because of him. “Hey, I’m not mad, or anything. I just kept thinking about it.”

“I will, too, then. I’ll think about it.” Jack says. “ _Je t'aime,_ Kenny.”

“Love you, Jack.”

The call beeps out. Kent doesn’t often resent their long-distance; selfishly, after watching teammates flounder, he’s sometimes been grateful that he doesn’t have to face the pressure of trying to keep a relationship alive in-the-flesh during the season. If there’s one thing he and Jack have always been in complete agreement about, it’s how highly hockey ranks in their respective life priorities, at the moment.

Still, it can be hard to fall asleep in a cold bed.

…

“What are you getting him for Christmas?” Swoops asks on the long flight back from Montreal. Kent had had dinner with the Zimmermanns, and Jeff had chirped him until Kent had reminded him that Jeff’s own mother-in-law pretty much hates his guts.

Kent flushes. Because when his sister had asked him three days ago, he couldn’t think of anything besides…

“What,” Jeff says suspiciously, and pales, “Oh, God, Parse… I love you man, I support you, but if this is in any way sexual, please forget I asked.”

“It’s not,” Kent says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know yet. I thought about getting him, um, a ring, but I know that’s stupid.”

“That is stupid,” Jeff says, and Kent feels more injured than he probably has a right to, considering that he said it first.

“Hey, fuck you, Jeff.”

“I meant because it’s not a holiday gift, dumbass. Getting him a ring isn’t stupid, but you still have to buy him a Christmas present, Christ.”

“Oh, I forgot you were an expert on romance, Mr. _The Scoundrel Returns._ ”

“My wife doesn’t have any complaints,” Jeff says smugly, and Kent groans.

“We get it, you married someone way too good for you. Stop fucking bragging about it, Jesus.”

“Just saying,” Jeff says, and waggles his left hand, wedding ring glinting. “I’d keep brainstorming if I was you, Parson.”

…

They take turns picking Christmas locations—this year, Kent gets the email on what Jack still insists on qualifying as American Thanksgiving: plane tickets to Denver and a reservation at a quiet cabin out in the mountains.

“Romantic,” Jeff drawls when Kent tells him over pumpkin pie. Whatever. Kent can literally see a stack of bodice-rippers from here.

It is romantic, it turns out—Jack already has a fire burning and is wearing a flannel and looks so happy to be out in the middle of nowhere with him that Kent has to laugh and say, “You walking Canadian stereotype,” before he even kisses Jack hello.

They don’t have sex on the rug in front of the fireplace, despite all of Kent’s best attempts.

They do curl up on the couch together afterwards, but Kent is so fucking nervous that he can’t stop squirming and finally he has to say, “Let me just give you your present because I’m freaking the fuck out, here.”

“I thought we agreed we didn’t do Christmas presents,” Jack says slowly. His poor Canadian heart is probably worried that it’s rude he didn’t get anything for Kent in return.

“If you asked Jeff, he would probably tell you that it isn’t exactly a Christmas present,” Kent says, returning with two boxes and handing one of them over, “Although, I guess that one is sort of meant to be a Christmas present. But like, the whole thing is not.”

Jack regards the package warily. “I thought we also agreed you shouldn’t listen to Jeff anymore.”

“Just open it, Jack,” Kent says, worrying at his bottom lip.

“It’s nice,” Jack says hesitantly, holding up the thin gold chain. “Kenny, will you please sit down? What’s this all about?”

“This is the, like, actual gift,” Kent says, collapsing onto the couch and handing Jack the other box. He’s the type that peels the tape back carefully like he’s trying to save the paper, or something, and it drives Kent crazy. “But it’s not actually a gift. I probably shouldn’t have wrapped it, so, uh, my bad.”

“Are you… proposing?” Jack asks, glancing from the ring up to Kent.

“Not really?” Kent says, “I mean, I guess yes, sort of, but not really marriage, I guess I just figured that it could be, you know, whatever, and there was nothing else I wanted to give you and I know this isn’t really a present and I don’t know if you would even say yes if I was going to ask you, even though I’m not, and—”

“Kenny!” Jack says, reaching for his hand. “Breathe, okay? I can’t understand you.”

Kent does take a deep breath, tries to start over. “I kept thinking about Christmas, and there wasn’t a single thing I knew that you wanted or needed, and I just kept thinking of giving you a ring, and so I just decided,” he breaks off to shrug, gestures at the gold band nestled in the velvet of the box. “Our relationship isn’t really like other peoples’, but it works for us. And I thought, this doesn’t necessarily have to be an engagement like other people have, but it could still work for us. That ring could mean anything we wanted it to mean. I obviously know that we can’t get married anytime soon, but I just thought it could still be, you know, kind of a step for us.”

Jack smiles, pulls the ring from the box, slips it down over his left ring finger.

Kent swallows, hard.

“It’s a little big,” Jack confesses.

“We can get it resized, if you want,” Kent says, “but I thought… all the married guys on the team take them off for games anyway, or wear them on chains, and I didn’t really think you could wear it without a lot of questions, so. That’s why…”

“That’s what the chain is for,” Jack says, smiling. “I know. But I can wear it when we’re together, right?”

“Sure,” Kent says, and lets Jack lean in and kiss him, soft and deep. “I’d like that.”

“I would say yes,” Jack whispers, pulling back. “If you were really proposing, I would really say yes. But I guess I’ll just say thank you, eh? I love it. I love you.”

“ _Je t'aime,_ ” Kent says. “Merry Christmas, Jack.”

…

Jack looks exhausted when he sees Kent in the baggage claim, worn thin and bruised, stitches on his freshly shaven jaw.

Kent wants so badly to kiss him.

He reaches out to touch the chain around Jack’s neck. “Zimms,” he says helplessly.

“It’s okay,” Jack says, even though it’s clearly not. “Nobody repeats with the Cup, you know?” He hoists his bag over his shoulder.

In the shadowy parking garage, Kent hugs him, long and hard. Their positions had been reversed last season, and he’d survived watching Jack win. Hell, he survived _losing_ to Jack. He knows Jack wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think he could handle it, and he’s so glad he is, but… he worries.

They don’t have sex—Kent is deep in the playoffs, and he thinks Jack might honestly fall asleep in the middle if they bothered trying. But it’s nice to have Jack here in his apartment, nice to just be with him again.

When Jack comes back from washing his face, he’s wearing the ring on his finger, chain carefully stored away. Kent takes his hand, rubs the band gently.

“Beat them for me, okay?” Jack asks, and drifts off.

…

Jack brings him a tray in the morning—a mug of coffee and a plate of eggs and sausage and a small box.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Kent says dumbly, rubbing at his eyes.

“I was up,” Jack shrugs. He hardly ever sleeps late at all—between the time zones and how early they slept last night, Kent wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been up for hours.

Kent reaches for the box, glances up at Jack. It’s pretty obvious, but his breath still catches when he sees the ring inside.

“I know you might be getting another ring pretty soon,” Jack says slowly, “You know, a big one, with diamonds. But I wanted you to have this one, either way.”

…

They wear the rings to dinner with Swoops and his wife that night.

He raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything, and then tries to talk hockey with Kent until even Jack is rolling his eyes.

“Playoff season,” Alice says to Jack, like they’re confidantes.

“Beard burn season,” Jack says, and then blushes. Alice laughs so hard every diner in the restaurant looks over, and Kent doubles up, nearly crying, at the way Jeff shakes his head and slinks low in his seat, eyes wide and horrified.

…

“There were many critics saying that it was going to be nearly impossible for you to beat this team and win a fourth cup going into this series,” some reporter says, shoving a microphone in Kent’s face. “Care to comment?”

Kent reaches up to tug on his chain, feels the ring settle next to his old St Christopher’s medal. He smiles. Jack’s up in the box, watching with Alice and some of the other wives—they’re not _out_ out, but they’ve been trying a lot less hard to hide it, recently. Easing into it. A glass closet, Jess had said.

Kent has felt Jack’s eyes on him, two games at home and two away, Aces up 3-1. It gives him a rush of power, to think of Jack watching him out there, to know that Jack can appreciate the way he does his job better than anyone else on the planet.

One more win, and it’s theirs.

“I think we have a good group here and they’ve been pushing hard through the playoffs,” Kent says, because saying ‘ _I think those people are probably stupid and/or are bad at analyzing hockey’_ would not be acceptable. “Obviously we don’t want to be overconfident but we’re feeling pretty good going into this game, numbers wise and hockey wise. Just trying not to get ahead of ourselves and to go out there and play a good game of hockey and push hard, and I think this team can do it.”

…

They don’t kiss on the ice, afterwards, but it’s probably still pretty obvious to anyone paying attention, how hard Kent clings to him once he’s passed the cup on and skated over to his family. When he’s on his skates, they’re closer to the same height, and Kent can press his face into Jack’s neck, nose nudging up against Kent’s chain around it. Jack’s in crisp dark jeans, hair carefully combed back, and Kent is sweaty and flushed and he thinks he has someone else’s blood on his jersey but he just doesn’t care if he messes Jack up when he knows for the first time in all his years of playing hockey how much better it is when he can share it with someone he loves as much as the game.

Someone actually tries to interview Jack. He’s wearing an Aces jersey, which he gestures to when he says, “I’m not really here as a player tonight. Just as a fan.”

“You must be very proud of your former teammate,” the guy shouts over the roar of Las Vegas screaming for them.

“I am,” Jack says. “I’m very proud.”

…

“I want to tell the guys,” Jack says.

Kent’s not really in a place to have a serious conversation right now, naked and fucked out and high on adrenaline and Jack.

Victory sex is his favorite sex, and he’s a little drunk and a lot in love.

“When we go to Samwell, next week,” Jack clarifies. Kent can’t stop touching Jack’s hand, where his ring is on Jack’s finger. “I want to tell them I’m bisexual, and I want to tell them about you.”

“Okay,” Kent says finally, and Jack laughs at him fondly, at the way he must look a little dumb with his hair everywhere and his eyes a little fuzzy from all the champagne.

“Go to sleep, Kenny,” he says. Jack is sort of petting his hair, and it’s so nice. This must be why Kit likes him so much. Kent giggles at the thought. Definitely too drunk for this conversation. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

…

“Dude, where’s your ring!” Holster calls from the front porch, and Kent nearly falls flat on his face when he trips in surprise, Jack reaching out to steady him. His ring is on the chain around his neck—he knew Jack had told them all that they were dating because he saw the text message threatening them if he so much as heard the word ‘fanfiction.’ But he thought wearing his not-engagement ring was probably still a bit much.

“I saw a picture online,” Ransom chimes in, pulling him into a quick hug when they make it up to the house. In the background, Shitty yells something right in Jack’s ear and immediately drags him inside, Jack laughing helplessly. “It was like, fucking encrusted with diamonds. You must have to keep that thing in a safe, man.”

 _The Stanley Cup Ring._ “Back in Vegas, dude,” Kent says, relaxing now against the porch railing. “It’s way too big to wear around.”

Jack comes back out after a while, hands Kent something in a red cup that he’s suspicious of after his last Samwell experience, and keeps one for himself, slips his arm around Kent’s waist, easy as anything. He _is_ wearing his ring, Kent notices suddenly—Jack almost never does around anybody but Kent, but when Jack follows his gaze he flexes his hand and shrugs, smiling.

“We’re telling the truth,” he says, “Right?”

“Yeah, Zimms,” Kent says, and takes a sip of whatever this concoction is so that he doesn’t kiss Jack right there.

But he could, he realizes. Maybe later, maybe somewhere a little more private than the front porch in broad daylight. But he _could_ kiss Jack today, in front of other people.

It’s overwhelming, and so good.

“Hey,” Kent says, nudging Jack gently. “I’m really glad we came today, Zimms.”

Jack is so happy here, smiling fondly at the way his old teammates are roughhousing on the front porch of his old college Haus, and Kent is happy that he gets to see Jack feel like this. It took him a while to come around to accepting the way everything had changed for them both at the draft, but he realizes now how good college had been for Jack, how much stronger and more confident now he is for having done it.

How much better it had made _them,_ the second time.

“Me too, Kenny,” Jack says. “I’m happy we made it.”

 

 


End file.
